


Implosive

by rotfox



Category: Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mental Health Issues, No Slash, Self-Destructive Behavior, Self-Hatred, Seriously self indulgent and angsty, Slightly AU in that Bruce is not unmasked and the Knightfall protocol doesn't happen, This is my first fic posted so I don't know how to tag well, hashtag arkham comics aren't canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 10:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18827053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotfox/pseuds/rotfox
Summary: After the events of Arkham Knight, Jason is at a loss. He never really planned to see the daylight of November 1st, after all he only had one goal for that night and he couldn't do it. After everything, he achieved nothing. All his pain and grief is catching up on him again, and he doesn't know how to fight it.(AU in that Bruce's identity is never revealed and the Knightfall protocol was not initiated, mostly for ease of writing a shorter story)





	Implosive

After that night, Jason didn't move from the bed in his safehouse for what felt like weeks.  
In reality, it was more like 3 days.  
He didn't know who he was anymore. He wasn't the Arkham Knight, that much was clear. He wasn't really Jason anymore; Jason had died in that room in Arkham a long time ago; and he sure as fuck wasn't Robin.  
It occurs to him it doesn't really matter 'who' he is anymore. No matter what he had failed. To complete his mission, to survive, hell, even to jack the tires from the Batmobile. His life had been non-stop failures since day one.  
Jason knew he was dehydrated, exhausted, starving. In some ways that was how he was most comfortable. 'Been through worse', he told himself, 'not like it will kill me. Maybe.'  
He wasn't sure he could bring himself to care. Maybe he did? He hadn't planned on anything past that night, certainly not in light of how it all turned out.  
He always had a drive for survival, after surviving Gotham's streets and Arkham he didn't plan to die anytime soon. Not without a pretty fucking big bang at least.  
But everything seems like it's changed now. In the end, he couldn't do it. Couldn't shoot Bruce. He even ended up saving his stupid ass, after a quick psychotic pit-stop.  
So where does he stand? Does he hate Batman? Does Bruce hate him?  
Once again he finds he can't really bring himself to care.  
All he ever wanted to do was to try and save this city, even since he was a kid. As soon as he learned he could make a difference he damn well tried. He tried so fucking hard it literally killed him, well, pretty much.

Jason held his hand above his face in the dim light that had just started to breach the horizon. He pretended not to see the slight misalignment on fingers that had been broken, healed, and then broken again so they could heal properly. He could see the bruises, and the weeping wounds from bleeding knuckles that should have been treated days ago. He found himself almost wishing Alfred were here.  
He recalls the nights coming back from patrol, he'd be so tired all he'd want was to go to bed. He recalls Alfred's eyebrow raising as he made Jason sit still, scowl and all, whilst he applied antiseptic and treated his wounds. Alfred always knew not to lecture though, he saved those for Bruce himself, which he knew would be promptly ignored and then hypocritically passed onto Jason.

He sighed and pulled himself upright, attempting to muscle through the debilitating head rush. He only made it a few steps toward the safehouse's neglected bathroom before he stopped, feeling the presence watching him from the window behind him.  
Jason knew who it was. Honestly, he wasn't expecting him to turn up first. He thought about yelling, or reaching for one of the guns hidden around the apartment, but he knew with a coarse, unused throat and hindered reflexes, both of those options would only end in embarrassment. Jason decided to let Nightwing have the first word.  
The word didn't come, and the silence becomes too much, reminded him too much of another brooding silence. He snapped towards the window, the sudden movement forcing him to brace himself against the wall or risk toppling over, and seethed, quieter than he would have liked, "What do you want?" Fuck, he was not in the mood for this.  
The quiet gasp in return, he figured in response to his face (even in the dim light), wasn't lost on him. Without thinking he averted his gaze and favoured his right to the window.  
"Jason... it's... jesus christ, it's-"  
"Really? Pictured you different. Wanna sign my bible?" Jason interrupted, almost scornfully, even though his throat practically begged him to shut up.  
Nightwing moved to step forward and reach a shaky hand out, as if he was trying to touch a hologram, before catching himself when Jason's eyes flickered warily at the motion. His own gaze faltered at that, realizing just how unprepared he actually was for this.  
"Dick Grayson at a loss for words, huh? There's a first." Jason said, unsure if he really wanted to be screaming "Get the fuck out!" now or not, he felt frustratingly obligated towards Dick.  
"You're alive. Jason, I..." Dick did take a cautious step forward this time, his eyes scanning over Jason, trying to comprehend what was in front of him whilst fulfilling that trained urge to scan, assess, deduct. Dick actually stopped mid-thought, "You look like shit."  
Jason stared at him for a few seconds.  
"Thanks." he replied dryly.  
Dick glanced around the dingy, probably mouldy, but otherwise inconspicuous apartment. It only took one look at the bed, the few scattered water bottles, the stark-ravingly bare kitchenette, and Jason to really get the picture.  
"Can we sit?" Dick asked, knowing it might be received better than saying that Jason looks like he needs to sit down or maybe be in a hospital bed.  
"Don't make yourself comfortable," Jason replied curtly, "you didn't answer my question."  
"Jason, I don't know... I can't possibly imagine what you've been through. We all thought, after the video..."  
Jason held a hand up weakly to stop him and grit his teeth, "I don't want to fucking know what you 'all thought', Dick."  
"We just want you home. That's what I want, I just want you home."  
If looks could kill Dick would be fucked.  
"Which home, Dick? The home that you left? The one that not even the golden boy, Bruce's favourite toy soldier, could stomach any more? Not really yours anymore, is it?"  
Dick looked pained at that.  
"Oh, you mean the home with the replacement", he seethed, "and the gutless freak who I just tried to kill with a full-blown militia? That home?" Jason nearly laughed, he was sure he would sound full-blown hysterical if his body was physically capable of it right now.  
The look on Dick's face was bordering on pity, Jason knew that if it crossed that line he'd fuckin' lose it.   
"Okay," Dick cut his thoughts off abruptly, "I'll go, just..." he sighed, feeling the sting in his eyes despite himself, "we won't give up on you, Jay. We miss you, we love you. I'm not giving up on you, not ever."  
Before Jason could even think of a response, Dick was gone, and he was alone again.

If Jason had the energy to board up the window he would have. Or if he even had the hammer or nails to do so. Instead, the next morning after achieving a few measly hours of sleep he spotted something on the fire escape just outside.  
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." he thought to himself.  
He reached out to grab the plastic tub gift basket, sans wrapping paper and other flourishes, noticing it being placed conveniently in arm's length, and pulled it inside.  
"What the fuck..."He glanced through it suspiciously, noting microwave meals, numerous vitamins and supplements, a haughty amount of first aid supplies, and other bits of crap.  
But sat near the top was a full Tupperware container... of cookies. He could read the note through the blurry top without much effort, but he already knew what it said.  
"-Alfred."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read! This is my first fic I've posted anywhere, so I'm open to any constructive criticism, and sorry I love ultra-angsty self-indulgent things. Hopefully this wasn't too corny/angsty. <3 Also I'm bad at titles and format.


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